


Supplicant

by Shampain



Series: Bury A Friend [1]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Yon-Rogg, Conjugal Visit, F/M, Femdom, Hate Sex, I'm going to regret this in the morning probably, Light Bondage, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Top Carol Danvers, Woman on Top, fighting is a precursor to mildly kinky sex, forty years after the movie but they're still young and hot because... aliens, this is for all you space pervs out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: It's been forty years since Carol Danvers found herself again, and forty years since she's seen Yon-Rogg. She's older, now, and it's given her some perspective on a lot of things, including her rather... complicated history.When she comes across one of many intergalactic prisons and notices a familiar name on the inmate list, she can't help but be curious to see what he's been up to. But when she speaks to the Warden, things get a bit more complicated."He talks in his sleep," the Warden said. "He's asking for someone.""Who?"But Carol already knows the answer.





	Supplicant

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I know nothing about Captain Marvel's comics, I just saw the movie and thought 'it would be great... if those two... did stuff.' And then my brain has been on autopilot ever since and I've had to do something about it. I usually put more effort into characterization, but who am I kidding? This is a PWP.  
> Might be some mistakes there, I wrote this pretty fast in one evening. I'll give it another comb through after a night's sleep. And I don't write a lot of erotica, so I hope this is up to snuff! Enjoy, my friends.

He'd changed, but also he hadn't.

Carol waved her key card over the censor and the door opened for her, as all doors eventually did. Still, it was nice to be let in, sometimes, rather than to break her way through.

He was at the window, hands on the casement, leaning forward. It was a beautiful view; looking though the room, she noted that it was the one thing they really gave him. Otherwise the room truly was a cell, barren except for a single bar attached to the ceiling. She could imagine him training by himself, back muscles flexing with pull-ups and chin-ups, or even upside-down, his legs hooked through the bar, doing crunch after crunch. She had never before met anyone so devoted to his physical upkeep, all in the name of war and death. Even during her time as a recruit before she became a pilot, the most eager and cocky of her countrymen could not compete with his willpower.

“Hey, Yon-Rogg,” she greeted, casually.

He did not turn to look at her. There were many reasons why – shame, or anger, or disgust. Most likely, though, she guessed the view out the window was better than looking at her. He must have given the prison some good information to earn that; it was fake, a vision of a starlit city, but it was nice still.

Also in the cell was a bed. Three books with shimmering covers sat at the foot. Holobooks, maybe. There was no bathroom. Just like every other prisoner there he was on a schedule; shower once a day, three bathroom breaks daily, everything moving like clockwork. He was more of a zoo animal than a person.

“I'm coming up behind you,” she said, dryly. “Don't punch me.” At least, if she announced her movements, he could not pretend she was trying to sneak up on him.

She expected more of the cold shoulder, but he actually glanced over at her as she stood up beside him. “Bored, Vers?” he asked. He always had such a dry way of talking. She had enjoyed it, back before. A part of her wished she could take it all back; but as lame as the phrase was, the truth had actually set her free. She was longing for the memory of a cage, and she had to physically shake her head to dislodge it. “Can't think of why else you'd be here.”

“Not really bored,” she said. “More... curious. How are things?”

He gave her a _look_ , like when she used to say a smart-assed remark during a sparring session before he took her down. She was stronger than him, now, but he had always been able to beat her back then. “Oh,” he said. “ _Superb_.”

The laugh was a surprise, bursting out of her. “I bet,” she said.

“I assume you looked up my record.”

“Of course. How else would I find you?” she said. “Kicked out of the Kree Empire – you're welcome, by the way, they turned their back on Ronan years ago. Then a mercenary by trade for, what, three decades until you got caught red-handed in a... robbery is too simple a word. Heist?”

He didn't deny the heist. “Three decades and four years.”

“I rounded down.”

“Or you can't count.”

“I can count,” she said. “I can always count on you to be an asshole.”

He sighed. “You still use humour as a crutch.”

“Hey,” she said. He looked at her, eyebrow raised. She slapped him. He was definitely overdue a slap from a woman.

He was silent.

“Ow,” he finally said.

She didn't like prisons, honestly. She didn't think they served much of a purpose. Rehabilitation, not punishment; she had learned that lesson the hard way. The harder lesson had been understanding rehabilitation was in the eye of the beholder.

But from what she had read, Yon-Rogg had given up on the Kree a long time ago. He had left in shame, but that shame seemed to be gone. He had found a spot for himself in the universe, like she had. Redeemed? Not likely. But they had history. There were so few people left she had history with.

“There are other things in your record,” she said. “I mean, the prison reports, specifically.”

He rubbed his cheek where she had hit him, then looked away, seemingly bored with her. “I bet,” he said.

“You talk in your sleep.”

The only reason she knew he was tense was because she knew _him_. Because when she stood close she remembered his body, hard-muscled and ready, strong and violent.

“Do I?” he asked lightly. He shrugged. “Interesting.”

She looked at him, curiously, and then after a moment of consideration she placed her hand on his hip. He didn't move. He was missing the uniform, the training outfits, the clothes she remembered him in. Basic, prison-issued clothing now, but he still seemed noble to her. It was the tilt of his chin, the glimmer in his eyes.

“Want to know what you say?” she asked.

He did not hesitate. “No.”

“Let's talk about it.”

“They're watching me at night,” he said, under his breath. A threat or an invitation? “So you know they're watching me now. Us.”

“I don't care,” she said. She grabbed him by the shoulders and his arm snapped up, fist plunging towards her face. She ducked to the side, backhanded him across the temple, and sent him careening away from the window.

He came back at her but she was ready. She twisted his arm, turned him and wrapped her own arm around his throat, his back pressed to her chest. He used the momentum to shove her backwards, but she dug her heel in, rotated, and tossed him towards the bed.

She was after him in a heartbeat, gripping him by the shoulders and shoving him back against the mattress. The fragile frame screamed in protest as he snapped himself back up; she narrowly missed him headbutting her. She punched him in the stomach, then landed a targeted hit to his throat that had him back down and gasping.

Swiftly she pinned him down again by the shoulders, hands warming with enough energy to warn him not to move. Had she gotten better, or would she still need her powers to keep him down? She didn't feel like testing that theory; like she'd told him those years ago, she had nothing to prove to him.

Carol leaned closer and swiftly pushed one foot to the side of his calf, opening his legs for her, exposing him. She knew she wasn't imagining the hitch in his breath, not if what the reports said were true. _He talks in his sleep_ , the guards had said. _He asks for someone. Vers._

He was tense. It was like she was a wild animal, and that pleased her, but when she touched him he yielded. “Vers,” he said. “We can't do this again.”

“We've never done this,” she corrected. She smoothed one hand through his hair – short, a few shades different than hers, slightly curling. She admired the shape of his face, the angle of his cheekbones; she'd liked the look of him ever since she first saw him, or at least, since she remembered first seeing him, waking up from the transfusion. Not before. “And my name is Carol. Or Captain Marvel, if you're feeling suppliant.”

“I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” she said, more harshly than she intended as she backed away. He sat up, watching her warily. It had been awhile. Their separate physiology meant they both looked the same, but she was older, now, and so was he. Forty years since she had last seen him, and it had provided her with perspective. She wondered if he'd had the same epiphanies as her; but at the same time, that was not the only thing she had realized. Those long looks he used to give her. How he held her hand a fraction of a second too long when he helped her up from the training mat.

“Be still,” she ordered, grabbing at the back of his shirt. Shockingly, obediently, he lifted his arms so she could drag it off, and she ran her fingers over his biceps, and then up, finding and tracing the faint freckles on his shoulders. He'd gotten pale in captivity, but he was still a tactile man, responsive to every touch.

He leaned in towards her, but she pushed him away so that she could lower herself right in front of him, for a moment looking like she was going to kneel between his legs. She grinned at the hungry look on his face before grabbing his ankle and jerking his leg upward, toppling him flat on his back. His groan, she noticed proudly, had nothing to do with pain.

“I always found you attractive,” she said.

He nodded. “I know,” he said, voice frank. She tried not to roll her eyes, but she ended up doing it anyway. He had the same sense of superiority even flat on his back with his legs spread as he did after he had made her eat floor mat after a spar session.

“But you've always found me attractive, too,” she said.

He said nothing. She felt a burst of irritation towards him that had her lifting her foot and planting it between his legs; she was pleased by his jump of surprise, his attempt to back away, but the bed was small, and she applied more pressure than she ought to.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Tell me what you've always thought.”

“Truthfully?” he asked, hoarsely.

“Yes.”

He licked his bottom lip and Carol felt a surge of desire. “I had dreams of you.”

She tensed. “Dreams?”

He met her gaze, evenly. “Nightmares,” he said. “They were nightmares.”

She breathed out angrily through her nose and leaned over him, gripping at the waistband of his pants. Standard issue, cheap fabric blend. They'd rip if she gave the right tug. “Yon-Rogg,” she said, hoarsely, hovering over him. “We've known each other for a long time, and we're both adults. Tell me the truth, or I swear, I swear I am going to leave this place, and you will never see me again. Ever. Again.”

It was a threat. A promise. A way out. She was not a monster; she wanted to hear him say yes.

He propped himself up on one elbow. What a beautiful face, she thought again. And shoulders... arms... chest. She itched to shove her hand in his pants, to feel him, because they both knew – he could not hide – that he was aroused. But she would not. Not until she heard him say it.

“Vers-”

“Carol.”

“Carol,” he repeated. She shivered. She noticed the goosebumps prickling up along his skin. His nipples looked hard, too. Would he writhe, if she sucked them? Would he cry out if he felt her teeth? All those thoughts, unbidden. Thoughts from before.

She let go of him. She stepped back, and then another. His stubbornness would win, she realized. He was always in control, the warrior who never failed. Even without the Kree Empire at his back, that didn't change. She turned.

“Wait.”

She stopped. She heard him shift, sit up straighter on the cot. He didn't say anything more. She sighed and turned to look at him. “Yes?” she said, before getting a real look at his face. It caught her off guard. She had never seen it so... naked, before. Vulnerable.

“Don't leave,” he said.

“That sounds like an order,” she remarked.

“Please don't leave,” he amended. Carol felt all the blood rush to her head and she knew her face must be red, but still she was rooted to the spot. Their gazes were locked on one another. Her body cried out for him, the way it used to. _She needed to hear him say it_.

“Say it,” she said.

Yon-Rogg, former commander of the Kree Empire, held his ground – for a split second. “Don't leave,” he said again, and as she wavered, “I need you,” and she rushed back to him.

It's a shame she never played football on Earth.

He produced a soft _oof_ as they collided, and the cot shook under their combined weight. For a moment she struggled atop him and then she managed to get her knee between his legs; pressing up had him gasping. She rocked her leg up, rubbing at his trapped cock with her knee, and she resisted the urge to straddle his thigh and grind herself against him.

“Tell me what you dreamt,” she said into his ear. She was so close his cheek brushed against hers. He had skipped a shave.

His hands roamed her hips, her waist. He began to tug on the zipper of her latest uniform until she grabbed his hand and stopped him. He was bigger and heavier than her, but that didn't seem to matter just then. “Your taste,” he breathed against her throat.

That was as good a start as any.

It would have been easier to just get up off of him and take her damn pants off, but instead she laid herself flat on top of him while she reached for her various zippers and began to struggle to work them down over her thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, reaching to help her with them.

“Sit up,” she ordered, kicking the leather to the floor.

“Get off me first-”

They scrambled against one another, and she grasped his wrists. Before he could protest she had snapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists and fastened him to the bed frame; she'd slipped them from her belt when he was distracted with her rolling around on top of him. “What is this?” he snapped, giving the bonds an angry tug.

“I don't want you strangling me mid-session,” she said, breathing rather unevenly. “Not my thing. Fair?”

He opened his mouth to argue, it looked like, but then she was taking off her jacket, and her undershirt, and her bra. “Fair?” she repeated. He wasn't much different from a human, she figured, from the way his eyes seemed focused on her bare breasts.

“Fair.”

She grinned and lifted herself up, and once he had got himself situated beneath her she grasped at the metal frame at the head of the cot and planted each of her knees on either side of him. She didn't need to communicate – of all the things he was, he wasn't an idiot – and so she pressed forward until his unshaven cheek rubbed against the inside of her thigh, and she felt his tongue slipping into her folds.

She shuddered, bracing herself against the frame, hips pressing forward slightly. If there was one thing she had thought often during their years together, it was that he had a face that begged to be buried between her thighs. She was pleased at how right she'd been.

“Yes,” she hissed, as they found their rhythm, her hips twitching and his tongue stroking. She wanted him buried inside of her, but she needed him to bring her close, first. “That's it. Yes. That's i- _ah_!” she doubled over against the frame as he sucked roughly at her clit. “Good boy,” she gasped, shaking with the effort to keep herself above him. She heard, and felt, him groan. He was writhing underneath her, and she didn't need to look back to know he had his heels digging into the mattress, back arching, desperate for relief. “Good boy.”

He said something against her thigh that might have been 'fuck you, Carol', but he didn't stop devouring her, so she figured it wasn't that important.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him back. His mouth was wet and his eyes were shining, pupils blown wide. She ran her thumb over his lip and was shocked but delighted when he sucked on it. He wanted to be dominated, she realized; it wasn't just her urge to take command, but something in him had wanted her to command him.

How many times during the sessions, when he had thrown her to the floor and egged her on, had he desperately wanted her to finally take him down instead?

Legs shaking a bit, she backed away, reaching for his pants. The bulge of his cock against the unforgiving material meant that when she tugged down the zipper he practically whimpered, and she felt a tension and heat deep in her stomach. Suddenly, she was ravenous, and she dragged his pants and his briefs down to his knees so roughly he let out a gasp of surprise.

“How long's it been?” she asked, grinning.

He growled. “Does it matter?” he asked, and she wrapped her hand around his cock. He made a noise in his throat and his whole body flinched underneath her. She rubbed her thumb up the underside, wondering if, physically, he was anything like the human men she'd taken to bed in the past. Judging by his moan, he was.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“Years,” he spat.

“Yeah, well, I don't care how long it's been,” she said, circling her fingers around the base of him and tightening her hold, slightly. His eyes widened and he tensed. “You come when I tell you to.”

She liked him like this, she had to admit. She was a grown woman in tune with her sexuality and really, it had been long ago, and Carol wasn't really someone who held grudges. Six years he had lied to her, sure – and for forty years he'd paid the price.

She let him go, but not before she thumbed the tip of his cock, and placed her hand to her lips to taste him.

He bit his lip. She wanted to kiss him, she realized, but that wouldn't be right. She had to distract herself from his mouth.

No more time to waste, no more distractions to catch her eye. She lifted herself up and moved back, straddling his hips, before gripping his cock and sliding down onto him. She barely heard him over the sound of her own moan. It was as if she could feel everything, the heat and surge of his cock, the faint scrape of the hair on his thighs against the smooth insides of her own. She dragged her nails over his chest and bucked her hips, crying out with her own pleasure.

His movements were stifled, not just by the fact his hands were bound but she had not bothered to fully take off his pants, lets alone his boots, so she may as well have had him tied by all fours for all he could do. That just turned her on even more – she loved setting the pace, taking command of him, and from the noises he was making she knew he loved it too.

She grabbed at his waist for support as she moved her hips, setting a steady but urgent pace. She looked at him, meeting his gaze. His hair was getting in his face, his pupils were blown wide and his face flushed. Oh, this lovely, delicious commanding officer, always so cool and collected until now. She had never been particularly musical or artistic, but she played him like an instrument.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, wretchedly, and she grinned.

“You're doing so good,” she breathed, and tweaked one of his nipples. He arched his back, licking his lips. She pinched, and he produced a whimper that twisted up her insides. She wanted more of him, more of that voice submitting to her, and he knew it, too.

“Harder,” he begged.

“Mmmn,” she mumbled, leaning down and soothing his nipple with her tongue. He shuddered and moved underneath her, but he couldn't speed up faster than she wanted to go.

He hissed another curse between his teeth and she laughed. “Ask nicely,” she ordered against his chest.

“Please.”

“Mmn.”

“Harder, please... Carol...”

“Yes...”

“Captain...”

She jerked her hips and he gasped. “Louder,” she growled.

Her former commander arched underneath her. “Captain, please,” he half-shouted. She dropped forward, burying both hands in his hair and holding his head steady, so that he could not break eye contact with her. He looked half crazy with need. She was sure she looked the same.

“Louder,” she demanded, her thighs burning as she began to almost angrily buck her hips. The cot clanged violently. It was worth it, though, as he writhed and thrust underneath her, helpless with lust. She was starting to let herself go, to ride the pleasure, his cock hot and hard inside of her and his shouts becoming louder and more desperate.

She reached one hand between them so she could rub two fingers roughly against herself, tipping her over the edge. Even though she did it on purpose her orgasm still hit her with the force of a baseball bat, and she distantly noticed him crying out as she tightened around his cock. Her other hand still gripped at his hair, painfully she knew, as she slammed her hips forward and rode through her orgasm. Through the roar in her head she realized he was still saying 'please'. He was asking for permission, and that ought to be rewarded.

She reached behind her, hand scrabbling up between his thighs, breathing hard as she forced herself to stay under control. She gave his balls the lightest of tugs and he cried out almost shamefully as she felt him come inside of her. Their bodies heaved together with the force of a tsunami breaking against shore.

That was when the cot broke and they slammed down against the floor, against each other. She was actually sweating, for the first time in a long time, and his body was warm, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

She held herself up on one hand and leaned over him so she could look down and enjoy the sight of him completely undone beneath her. She smiled, feeling the warm glow of sexual satisfaction, as well as smug pride.

“Hey,” she grinned, when she noticed some of the sense coming back to him. She trailed a fingertip down one arm. He was sagged back against the bed, undoubtedly exhausted. The cuffs chinked as he shifted. “How are you feeling?”

He licked his bottom lip. “Great,” he managed. Dry, again, but still undone.

She remembered seeing him that first time, a man of vicious energy, hard-eyed and uncompromising. Now he was putty. Carol moved her weight, rolling off of him, and she thought she heard a sigh of disappointment.

She reached for her clothes, dressing herself without looking at him, knowing he was watching every movement, was perhaps reacquainting himself with the curves of her body. Zipping up her jacket, she turned around to look at him, completely nude save for the pants around his ankles, his arms still cuffed to the bedframe. Only the base of the cot had broken, but it was still a vision to her eyes to see him sprawled out like that, and she had to admit she'd always wanted to break a bed.

“Are you going to leave me like this?” he asked, as her eyes trailed over him. Even without his arousal she liked the look of him.

“Of course not,” she said. “I'm not a monster.” She walked up to him and knelt, dipping her head down to kiss him. He recoiled in surprise.

She backed up enough to place the key to his cuffs in his mouth.

“Once you're out of them, don't throw them away,” she said, heading for the door. “We'll need them for next time.”

He managed to laugh, she noted wryly, even with the key in his mouth.

She headed for the Warden's office. There was now a little matter of a recording to deal with.


End file.
